second try [sxf x child! reader]

⋆ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ɢᴏɴᴇ ⋆

"Listen," Arfus Yao, one of the Ketsueki members, pleaded, "it's insane to do that! Unhumane, I dare say!"

"Arfus," the deep and rumbly voice that replied was the unmistakable voice of Akuma Kuriyami, creator of the Ketsueki organization. "Just because you've been promoted to Conductor of K doesn't mean that-"

Arfus glared, "Yes I can! And I say that is so-"

Akuma let out a deep breath, for he'd raised Arfus since finding him on the street as a little kid and knew him very well. "We do not mean to hurt him, Arfus. We are simply getting him back, for he belonged to us in the first place." He leaned back against his dark polished throne and tapped the armchair softly. 

Arfus, who'd been kneeling on the floor, stood up. "What are you going to do with him, once he's back, may I ask?"

Akuma closed his mouth and sighed, "Can't say."

"So why should I go get him back!?" Arfus exploded, throwing his hands up. "If you're going to throw him under the-"

"I will not," Akuma was growing impatient. "I promise I won't hurt him as long as he behaves."

Arfus gritted his teeth but nodded, knowing this was the best he was going to get. "Okay. Thank you, Akuma."

Akuma tilted his head back and smiled, "Great. I look forward to seeing him again."

Arfus bowed his head and took a step back before retreating out of the "throne room" as Akuma called it. 

"We can't hold it off anymore," he whispered to the guards standing outside who'd been listening into the conversation. 

The one in charge, Toru, nodded. "We'll organize a team of our most trusted Ketsueki members to tag along."

"Thank you," Arfus said quietly. "I appreciate it."

Toru shrugged, "It's our mission. Please be on your way so Akuma doesn't get suspicious."

Arfus gave him a quick bob of his head and hurried down on of the metal halls of Ketsueki, breathing hard and thinking. If they were to keep him away from Akuma's grasp... 

"He probably doesn't even know what he can do," Arfus muttered under his breath, squinting as he turned a corner. He nodded to a couple guards as he passed them, wincing as he thought about how traumatized the boy might be from all those years locked in a human killing machine.

Akira woke with a start, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark interior of Loid's room. For a second, he wasn't sure where he was. He thought he'd been dreaming about Kestueki... walking down the halls with no end. Why was he feeling so... alert? He rubbed his arms, his fingers numb and cold before slipping out of bed and down the halls. The floor beneath him felt frozen and ready to crack at any moment.

"Anyone... home?" Akira murmured, a whisp of mist left his mouth as he spoke. No one answered back. He peered around the kitchen, half expecting Anya to be playing some sort of prank on him. "Come out, please."

Silence greeted him.

Akira let out a frustrated growl, "Anya... it's quite hard to understand you. Please, I'll watch Spywars or whatever with you."

He was sure Anya would reveal herself along with Loid and Yor at this sentence but she didn't.

"Anya?" Akira slowly made his way around the kitchen and found no one behind the counters. Then, desperately, he scrambled over the couch and lifted up the cushions-as if someone could fiit under there without notice. "Loid? Yor?" He hesitated. "Mom... Dad? Where are you guys?"

He stood and stared around the empty space, something invisible ripping and tugging at the corners of his heart. He pressed his fist to his chest as if that would stop it. He felt the room spinning around him, turning and twisting and laughing as it watched him stagger and collapse onto the couch in shock. Had they left him? Of course they had. Anyone who knew Akira well and saw who he really was, well, they didn't want to be with him.

"Anya?" Akira tried one more time. One more hopeless desperate time. The quietness that answered was like a punch to the gut. They really had left. Without a note. Without a trace. Without something telling Akira they'd be back or why they'd left him. He looked up, staring at the ceiling, unspoken words swirling around his head. 

"Of course," he whispered, "of course they're gone. Shouldn't have..." He grabbed his knife violently from his pocket, ripping a tear in the fabric. His voice turned sharp and hostile. "Shouldn't have let myself..." He flicked the knife and the metal part popped out. "Shouldn't have let myself grow attached." He hesitated, before gritting his teeth and tracing a mark on his arm, squeezing his eyes shut as the pain, real pain, ran through his body. When he opened them again, he saw the red, unforgiving blood of himself. "Stupid," he was crying now although he was fighting hard against it, "stupid, stupid me!"